


All Manners Good And Bad

by FruHallbera



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Frottage, Hand Feeding, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Jealousy, Kylux Big Bang 2020, M/M, Manners and Etiquette, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:22:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26681347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FruHallbera/pseuds/FruHallbera
Summary: There is more to conquring a galaxy than military prowess and brutal power. When the First Order starts to expand towards the Core Armitage Hux finds his set of skills sorely lacking and not what might be expected of a man second in power only to the Supreme Leader himself.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 11
Kudos: 155
Collections: Kylux Big Bang 2020





	All Manners Good And Bad

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Kylux Mini Bang 2020.
> 
> The awesome art is by the incredibly talented space moonpears - go and shower them with kudos and praise on Twitter.
> 
> The fic was beta read by rudbeckia who has my gratitude. Thank you so much!
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story!

Hux casts a sideways look at his Leader, sitting two seats over at the overly lavish dinner table. He observes how Ren carefully picks the outermost set of eating utensils from the baffling array surrounding his plate in his enormous fingers and almost daintily skewers the greenish blob wobbling on a bed of wilted seaweed and transports it into his mouth. Hux scowls at the display but gathers his courage and mimics Ren’s actions. 

Or attempts to.

He stares at the unhappy creature impaled on his minuscule fork and makes several false starts in trying to open his mouth enough to fit the jiggling thing in. In the end he manages it, but the gelatinous texture and the dull, briny taste nearly make him gag. He reaches for his glass and washes the foul thing down with a generous gulp of champagne. The regret is instantaneous, the bubbles forcing their way out of his nose and probably eyes as well. Hux gasps and coughs, wipes his leaking eyes and presses his napkin  surreptitiously to his nose. He focuses on his breathing and only moves  when he’s certain what  he just ate won’t make a  reappearance any time soon. 

He  risks another glance at Ren and catches him scowling at him before turning to speak to the richly dressed woman beside him. She is the head of the most influential trading House of  Brentaal IV and it is because of her the First Order has a secure foothold in the Core. Ren seems to be in his element rubbing shoulders with the rich and powerful, much to Hux’s dismay, knowing what to say and when to sneer and how to  maneuver the ridiculous array of hardware on the table. Hux would scoff but he doesn’t want any attention drawn to him in this unfamiliar situation. He looks down at his hands and draws confidence from the General’s stripes around his sleeve and the solid black of his uniform. He’s the embodiment of the First Order. The  Starkiller .  Every last entitled, vapid member of the  so-called elite would do good to remember who exactly he is. 

Still, he’d better not take any unnecessary risks. The Supreme Leader obviously has things well at hand, eating the suspicious greenery on his plate with grace and ease and conversing with the dignitaries in a way which makes Hux want to grind his teeth. Why should he have had to suffer through the tantrums and the violence, and these self-important, pompous Core World nobs be granted the good behavior and the perfect manners?

Hux doesn’t grind his teeth. He does not scowl or hiss or curse. He stiffens his posture and leans a bit to the left when the waiter comes to clear away his half-eaten starter and replace it with a bowl of creamy soup. Thankfully there’s only one spoon on offer so he feels confident in his choice of weapon and dips it in the bowl. The soup is silky smooth and buttery rich and so full of  flavor Hux feels his mouth watering. It’s unlike anything he’s ever eaten before and he eagerly takes another spoonful, and another, until his bowl is almost  empty, and he lifts it to gain better access to the last few  spoonfuls . From the corner of his eye he spots the slightly scandalized expression of the dinner guest next to him, and yes, when he turns his head Ren’s face is positively thunderous. He puts the bowl back on the table carefully, clenches his left hand into a fist over his thigh and scoops the soup awkwardly with one hand only. 

The soup sits heavily in his stomach and when the soup bowl is whisked away and replaced with a colorful array of local greenery and a few slices of white meat Hux  has to suppress a groan. He can already feel the heartburn forming at the sight of the dark green leaves and the chilled white wine being poured into one of the glasses in front of him.

“ So you’re the General, then? The famous General Hux.”

“I beg your pardon?” Hux doesn’t even try to hide the scorn in his voice. He turns his attention away from the condensation-fogged crystal to the man seated next to him.

“The camera  _ does  _ add another ten pounds, I see,” the man says, grinning and giving Hux a blatant once-over. He’s tall and very muscular, his long dark hair arranged in tight braids down his back. Hux gets instantly wary, biting back the instinctive and expletive dressing-down he’d be dealing out to any member of the First Order who’d dare to speak to him in such a manner. He’s well familiar with this particular brand of cockiness. It usually comes attached to a surname like  _ Tarkin  _ or  _ Motti  _ and precedes public humiliation or physical pain. 

“I am indeed General Hux,” he says, through a forced smile. “And you are?”

“ Cienor Tillis.” The name is announced with a fair amount of entitlement and an expectant air. Hux racks his brain. He memorized all the names of the  Brentaalian trade Houses of importance, but the name Tillis does not ring any bells. He opts for a noncommittal hum and prods at the wilting lettuce on his plate. 

“I must say I’m surprised your Supreme Leader took you along. Although this must be a once-in-a-lifetime experience for someone from the wilds of the Outer Rim. Where did you say you were from?”

“I didn’t,” Hux growls, and because this isn’t his subordinate he can space or court-martial  but yet another indignity he must suffer through on his path to glory he adds: “Arkanis.”

“ Arkanis ,” Tillis muses, rubbing his chin. “ Ar -ka- nis . Can’t say I’ve ever heard of the place. Must be quite...  rural .”

“Then I’m glad the Order is now here to improve the level of basic education on your planet. The children - and I’m sure adults as well - deserve a chance to reach their full potential, wouldn’t you agree?”

Hux’s lips twitch in annoyance and he shoves his mouth full of greenery before he loses his temper and endangers the mission. The leaves take a lot of chewing and taste sharp and bitter. The white wine helps a bit but Hux still  has to swallow several times to force the salad down. The irritating man has thankfully turned to his own plate and to exchanging pleasantries with the guest on his other side. Hux has barely put his fork down when a waiter materializes behind him and replaces the half-eaten dish with – Hux gapes at the plate before him, turns to the waiter who has already disappeared and shifts on his chair to properly take a look at the veritable mountain of food laid out in front of him.

There is a slab of red meat wrapped in pastry and slathered in dark red gravy of sorts, some pale, roasted root  vegetables and green stringy items, none of which Hux recognizes. Blood-red wine gets poured into one of the glass  array and Hux sees his opportunity. “Take this away,” he says to the  waiter who jolts in surprise, spilling wine on the white  tablecloth .

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Take it away,” Hux hisses from between his teeth. “It’s unnecessary.”

“What is, sir? Is there something wrong with the food, sir?” The waiter sounds utterly confused.

Hux can see from the corner of his eye how Tillis has already caught whiff of what’s going on and a horrible grin is  spreading on his face. “Never mind,” Hux mutters to the waiter, dismissing them. He pretends not to have seen Tillis and looks away, only to be accosted by the Supreme Leader’s thunderous look aimed straight at him. Hux puts his hands over his knees and tries to stare the  plateful of food into submission. His belly is already  full, and he can’t imagine eating just for the sake of it.

“All this must be a little overwhelming for you.” Tillis drawls, leaning over to smirk at Hux again. Hux grinds his teeth, clenches his fists and twists his right wrist minutely, testing the mechanism of his trusted knife. He indulges in a brief fantasy of slitting Tillis’ throat right there at the table, letting everyone see what happens to those who won’t respect the might of the First Order. He sneaks a glance at Ren who is shoveling food into his mouth like he’d just come out of rigorous training and not  having already downed three platefuls. Disgusting, really. Waste of resources. 

“... like this on those little warships of yours?” Hux snaps into the present and makes some noncommittal noises at Tillis’ question which he won’t ask the insufferable man to repeat. He eyes the slab of meat before him and sighs. The soup he ate would keep him going for the rest of the evening and he has a sneaking suspicion digesting unprocessed meat with a system used to the nutritionally optimal  synthsust and ration bars provided by the Order will be a painful affair. 

Two seats over Ren takes one of those long, green vegetables and dips it in the sauce, bringing it to his lips and sucking at it before biting down on the stem. Something throbs in Hux’s lower belly and makes his skin tingle. With that he makes up his mind not to eat anything more, as the food clearly does not agree with him. He keeps his eyes on his plate because the options are either to look at Ren or suffer the attentions of Tillis, who is cutting into his meat with unnecessary flourish and chewing it quite loudly. He feels  slightly awkward and tries to compensate by sipping his wine nonchalantly, but it’s too rich and strong and he  has to fight not to make a face and spit it back into the glass. He puts the glass  carefully back on the table, covering the unseemly stain the waiter made and pretends to be interested in the orchestra  playing mellow tunes in the background.

It takes forever for the waiters to appear and take the plates away. Hux hopes someone will eat his portion and the thought of wasted food sits uncomfortably with him. A fragile-looking crystal plate is placed before him, along with the tiniest cup of  caf he’s ever seen. His nostrils flare when the heavy scent of the  caf reaches him and he feels invigorated just by drawing it in his lungs. A wedge of dark brown cake of sorts sits on the plate, accompanied by a ball of something white and melting. Hux reaches for the  caf eagerly, taking a minuscule sip to draw out the cupful. It’s strong and dark and  _ perfect,  _ the taste of it filling his mouth and making him smack his lips. It feels like pure  energy flowing down his throat and he takes another sip before telling himself to keep rationing the beverage. He decides to try the dessert, if only to avoid the potential waste. 

The cake is sweet and sticky, gluing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, and he can’t remember ever tasting such decadent combination of texture and flavor. The white substance is cold and sweet and literally melting in his mouth and it goes well with the cake, balancing the stickiness and the flavor. It also makes his tongue a bit numb with cold and he  has to stop  himself from smiling at the sensation. It really is marvelous, the tiny  caf and the sticky cake and the cold, white dish. He feels alert and present, all his senses functioning at optimal level. Even Tillis doesn’t annoy him quite as much and he  actually flashes him a tight smile when the Supreme Leader and Lady  Pellis rise at the same time to lead their entourages from the dining hall. Hux hurries after Ren, trying to keep up with his long  strides .

In the shuttle back to the  _ Finalizer  _ Ren keeps either glowering at  Hux or turning his head away while chewing the inside of his cheek. Hux can’t stop fiddling with the hem of his tunic and shifting his weight from one side to the other, somehow unable to stand the tedium of sitting still for the three quarters of an hour the trip takes. He frowns at his hands, forces his fingers to let go of his uniform and clenches them to fists. Five seconds later he flicks the blade he has strapped to his forearm out to his palm. He pushes it back into its holster, twists his wrist to release it again and repeats that until he catches Ren’s furious scowl.

“Stop that,” the Supreme Leader growls and Hux hides the blade into his sleeve and takes a deep breath to center himself. His leg begins to bounce on its own accord. “And that,” Ren says just as Hux purses his lips to whistle some old barrack-room  favorite his memory suddenly shoved into the forefront of his mind. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

Hux chooses to ignore the accusatory tone of his Leader’s voice. “The evening was a resounding success, sir,” he says, failing to hide the excitement in his voice. 

“Was it.”

“I believe we have established a secure foothold in the Core. It’s only a matter of time before the rest of the systems bow to us.”

“Is it.”

“We must start plotting our next step. I’ve heard positive feedback from the representatives of the  Corellian sector – I suggest organizing similar negotiations with them as with the  Brentaalian government.”

“Have you now.”

Something about the flatness of Ren’s tone makes Hux pause for a second but he’d have gotten nowhere in his career if he let things like that deter him. “Yes, sir. We present a powerful image together -”

“No.”

“Sorry, sir?”

“The Order will expand into the Core. I have foreseen it. But you will not be a part of the future negotiations.”

Something hot lances trough Hux’s body and lands heavily in his belly. His cheeks burn crimson with shock and humiliation, and he  has to fight to draw a steady breath. “What? I mean, why not, sir?”

“Do not make me repeat myself.” Ren is staring resolutely at the wall opposite him, sitting with is back held rigidly straight and legs wide apart. Hux’s shock transforms into fury.

“I am the face of the Order,” he hisses between his teeth. “Our success is  _ my  _ doing. My army has conquered the Galaxy in your name,  _ Supreme Leader _ .” The title leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, like it did in the early days of Ren’s brutal ascension. Hux had thought he had made his peace with the changes in the chain of command but leave it to Ren to make things awkward again. He glares holes in the back of Ren’s head.

“ _ Face of the First Order _ ,” Ren grinds out. “You embarrassed us this evening, Hux. I’ve never been so  ashamed  in my  _ life _ . You will not be attending diplomatic missions from here on. You will remain with your strategies and your machines and your little lackeys onboard the  _ Finalizer _ .”

Hux sits back, rendered completely speechless. All blood drains from his face and his fingers and toes feel numb. Ren is still not looking at him, and thankfully also not speaking either. The only sound besides the humming of the engines is the leather creaking when the Supreme Leader clenches his fists. Hux feels weightless, somehow, his skin tingling and ears ringing. Something cracks inside of him, shatters into million pieces before solidifying into a new resolve. This is not the first time he finds himself fighting against all odds. This is not the first time he  has to bite and claw his way back to the top. If Ren thinks he can brush Hux aside when he’s standing on the cusp of his greatest victory and the fulfillment of his lifelong dream, he’s a bigger fool than Hux had ever thought.

If meaningless posturing over food and suffering through the infuriating small talk is what is takes, he’ll master these skills just as he has mastered every other skill he has had to learn.

He will not yield his position to some simpering sycophant or worse, some old, demented relic of the Empire he hasn’t yet had the time to nudge out of an airlock.

For some reason the thought of someone else sitting at Ren’s side on a dinner table makes him more enraged than just being ousted from an important mission.

***

A week has passed since the horrible gala on  Brentaal IV. Kylo hasn’t seen much of Hux aside from when an encounter can’t be avoided but he’s fine with it. It’s not like he’d miss the General and his frantic energy and his brilliant mind and their late-night meetings when Hux lounges in his chair, slightly disheveled after a long day, maybe even going as far as toying with the topmost button of his uniform, the thought of popping it open playing so clearly in his mind Kylo can feel the imagined relief and has to rub his own throat to convince himself he’s not the one wearing a tight, starched collar around his neck.

It’s a relief, being free of Hux’s constant presence. He can get work done and focus on seeking a complete understanding of the Force and just be alone with his thoughts.

He does not feel any guilt in forbidding Hux to attend diplomatic missions. He can’t deny that Hux is intelligent and  clever, but his ruthless genius is more suited for his war room rather than a formal dinner. 

If the image of the handsome, rich man drooling all over Hux creeps up to bother him when he’s trying to fall asleep or every  time he sees Hux no one needs to know. Especially when Hux seemed to enjoy his advances, blushing and smiling and driving Kylo mad with, with – it was not jealousy,  definitely not . As the Supreme Leader Kylo is well within his rights to express concern over possible security breaches, especially when someone as high-ranking as General Hux is involved. 

It was because of this worry and not because he was feeling something as crass as jealousy, that he cleaved half of the Finalizer’s training dummies in half after seeing a large parcel shipped from  Brentaal IV being ferried to Hux’s personal quarters. Leaning against one of the remining dummies, sweaty and panting from the exercise, he resolved to start keeping a close eye on Hux again. Only for the good of the Order, of course.

Two days after the mystery parcel’s arrival Kylo is woken from his sleep both by the Force screaming a warning in his mind and someone leaning on the buzzer by his door. He scrambles up, holding one hand out for his lightsaber and another for his leggings. He’s still pulling the waistband of his leggings up one-handed when he opens the door to let a perfectly dressed and coiffed Hux in.

“Good morning, sir!” Hux greets, pushing past an astonished Kylo and stepping smartly into the living room. “I trust you slept well?”

“Hux,” Kylo starts, pauses to clear his throat and tries again, this time with a less sleep-hoarse voice: “What are you doing here?”

Hux looks at him, brandishing his datapad. “It’s time for our morning briefing, sir.”

“Our morning briefing is scheduled at 0800.”

“Yes?”

“It’s 0500, Hux.”

Hux looks down at his  datapad and wrinkles his nose. “That explains why the overnight reports aren’t ready yet. Still, I’m sure the reprimand I sent to the officers in question will only serve to improve work efficiency. In the meantime, would you like to hear how -”

“I will not listen to anything until I’ve had my  caf ,” Kylo interrupts, realizing he’s still clutching his lightsaber and placing it on his desk. He busies himself with the  machine , trying to make sense of what’s happening. He turns around to see Hux holding his lightsaber in his hands. He turns it around, tutting quietly before taking out a handkerchief from his pocket and s tarting to carefully clean the weapon .

“Hux! Put that down!” Kylo nearly spills his  caf in his hurry to snatch the saber from Hux’s hands. “Don’t touch it. You don’t know how to handle it.”

“I have you know I’m highly proficient with any sort of weapon,” Hux says, but gets distracted by fingerprints in the otherwise shiny desktop. He breathes on its surface and starts to buff out the marks, crouching down to see the results against the light. 

“Hux,” Kylo says, and because he’s is clearly not listening, adds in his most commanding tone: “General! Status report!” 

It has the desired effect as Hux straightens into his immaculate parade rest and starts rattling off the reports from last night which Kylo is very well familiar with but he needs the distraction to try and figure out what in all the Sith hells is wrong with Hux. The General can maintain his position for about two minutes before he starts wandering aimlessly around Kylo’s quarters, touching every item that comes in his way, all the time prattling on about supply lines and ammunition statistics. Between stormtrooper unit rotation schedules and impending promotions among his own staff Hux moves from the living room into Kylo’s bedroom and before Kylo can utter a word has stripped his bed and deposited the sheets into the laundry chute. 

“There’s droids for that, you know- Hux- Don't- Give me that,” Kylo tries, snatching his  datapad from Hux’s fingers and floating it into the relative safety of his desk. 

“Yes, well, as I was saying we need to put pressure on the Kuat- Entralla to increase the TIE production -” Hux stops abruptly, staring down at the contents of the nightstand drawer he has just opened. “How do you want these sorted, sir? By color, size or function?”

Kylo makes an undignified sound and slams the drawer shut with the Force, pulling Hux away from the bed. The General doesn’t seem to mind and happily occupies himself with moving the hangers in Kylo’s wardrobe exactly two finger-lengths apart. He’s listing the merits of funding choice universities and academies with specific engineering programs and pairing Kylo’s socks into neat little rolls when he’s suddenly lifting a scrap of crimson lace up to his eye level, turning it this way and that to figure out how to fold it. Kylo snatches that, too, from his hand, feeling a horrible blush creeping up his neck. He crumples the embarrassing item in his fist and rubs it against his thigh until he remembers that his leggings have no pockets and stuffs it down the front of his trousers instead. 

“Hux, stop. Stop. Now.”

“Yes, sir?” Hux enquires politely, folding his hands behind his back.

“What are you doing? What’s gotten into you? Are you sick or something?”

“What? No! I’m in perfect health, sir!” Hux protests, taken aback. “I have made a minor change to my morning routine and find it extremely beneficial for my productivity!”

“What kind of change,” Kylo asks, immediately suspicious.

“Oh, I came across a splendid concoction on our trip to  Brentaal IV. You remember the small cup of  caf they served us at the end of the meal, sir? I took the liberty of having a machine  installed and acquired a few beans and I find the subsequent drink to be very invigorating, sir, very invigorating indeed!”

Oh. Of course. That explains it. Kylo stamps down the immediate and sharp stab of jealous anger at the thought of the undoubtedly smarmy love note that must have accompanied the  caf paraphernalia and instead asks: “How much have you had to drink this morning?”

Hux vibrates on his feet, blinking at Kylo furiously. “Five cups, sir!”

“...five. Five cups of  Brentaalian caf.”

“Yes sir!”

“And that doesn’t make you feel ill?”

“No sir! I feel rather lively, sir.”

“Lively.”

“Yes, sir! Lively!”

Kylo pinches the bridge of his nose. “Tell me, General, where are you going after this meeting?”

“To the bridge. I always take my bridge shift first thing, to acquaint myself into the flow of the ship, so to say -”

“Yes. Well.” The thought of Hux in this state terrorizing the bridge crew and the very real possibility that there’s no way of preventing Hux from redirecting the Finalizer into the nearest sun makes Kylo’s head throb with pain. “You always say I should spend more time commanding the bridge. I shall take your shift, General. I advise you to conduct a surprise inspection on the trooper barracks on deck 17. I’ve heard they’ve let things slide.”

Hux’s eyes widen and he takes on an affronted look. “I assure, Supreme Leader, that my men are always -”

“That is an order, General. You will inspect the barracks.” Kylo curses at his heart for having a pang at the sight of Hux’s confused and falling face. “I trust no one else,” he softens the blow. “I need all my troopers in perfect fighting order at all times.”

Hux brightens a bit and salutes, starting towards the door with a spring in his step. “Very well. I’ll take my leave then, sir. Have a good day!”

Kylo grumbles something that makes the Force around him pulse with Dark and waits until the door has closed behind Hux. He shakes his leg until the expensive piece of designer lace peeks out from under the black fabric of his leggings and calls it up to his hand. He flings it at the far wall and sits down heavily on his bed, falling backwards to stare at the ceiling and heaves a gigantic sigh. 

This thing with Hux has gone too far. He needs to take things back under his control before he risks losing  everything he’s fought for.

***

There’s a parcel waiting for Hux in his quarters when he returns to it after his shift. He eyes it warily but recognizes the sender and tears it open with great anticipation. He lifts out the set of shiny, silvery-grey cutlery, surprised at their weight, and rummages in the packaging material for the two books on Old Republic and Imperial etiquette.

He will be damned if he won’t conquer this set of skills, too.

And he will be damned and cursed if he lets anyone see this weakness in him, hence the old-fashioned but critically untraceable books which can be disposed of via the ship’s incinerator should the need ever arise. 

Frankly, he’s a bit surprised that this is all that’s required for his ascension in the ranks but since the only person he’d have to remove from his path is Ren and currently the pros of keeping Ren alive outweigh the cons he’s happy to do a bit of reading and call it a day.

Three hours later he’s brewed himself a cup of that splendid  caf and spread the array of utensils over his desk, trying to set them in the correct configuration for a formal dinner and trying to make sense why there needs to be a knife for fish and another for salad. He’s ditched his uniform jacket and replaced his contact lenses with his glasses for comfort. He rolls up his shirt sleeves and goes back a few pages, starting over.

“Outside in,” he mutters. “Outside in. First course – fuck!” He slams the dessert fork angrily down and goes on the hunt for the seafood fork. “This is pointless!” he declares to  Kayfour who acknowledges his outburst with a  _ yes, sir, quite so, sir _ before continuing to lay out Hux’s uniform for the next day. The droid ambles away and Hux aims a withering glare at the ridiculous small spoon apparently – Hux checks the notes – meant for eating boiled eggs.

It’s getting painfully clear that the First Order is bringing some desperately needed clarity and order in the abominable opulence and chaos which is the Core. 

An angry beep of his  datapad interrupts his lofty dreams of a world where grape tongs would be a thing of the past. The message is from the Supreme Leader who has been unusually chatty lately, bothering Hux with inconsequential minutiae of his day, demanding his presence and opinions on every little thing and generally being a nuisance.

(Granted, his advice on cutting down the  Brentaalian caf to one cup at a time was, in hindsight, a good one. The heart palpitations Hux experienced after what he has come to address as the Morning Incident are not something he wants to experience ever again).

Hux stares at the screen, nose wrinkling as he reads the message a few times.

_ > FROM: SLKREN _

_ > TO: GENAHUX _

_ > U R not in  _ _ ofcrs _ _ mess. _

_ < FROM: GEANAHUX _

_ < TO: SLKREN _

_ > I’m in my own quarters. I’m off duty,  _ _ sir. _

_ > FROM: SLKREN _

_ > TO: GENAHUX _

_ > U always get a drink this time of  _ _ nite _ _. _

_ < FROM: GENAHUX _

_ < TO: SLKREN _

_ < I have alcohol here, too. Is there _ _ something I can help you with,  _ _ Supreme Leader? _

This has been happening a lot lately. He either seems to bump into Ren in odd times and places or the Supreme Leader finds any excuse to message him, demanding attention. Hux had thought they were over the ‘keep the General close to avoid the inevitable betrayal’-stage and had found a way to at least work together, if not unreservedly trust one another. 

If he’s completely honest with himself, Hux can’t help but feel a bit flustered at the thought of being in the forefront of Ren’s mind. It’s just his old, silly infatuation acting up, he tells himself as the memory of Ren’s scathing words and the humiliation of failing a simple task of eating a dinner on Brentaal flashes through his mind and the bitter taste that leaves in his mouth helps him to focus again.

_ > FROM: SLKREN _

_ > TO: GENAHUX _

_ > _ _ Nevrmnd _ _ good night, Hux  _

_ < FROM: GENAHUX _

_ < TO: SLKREN _

_ < Good night, sir. See you in the  _ _ morning _

Hux picks up the etiquette book and  leafs though to the chapter on the order of courses. What he remembers of the old Imperial formal dinners is vastly different from Republic manner of eating. Different and superior, Hux feels, with all the food carried out in two or three removes, the guests helping themselves and choosing the morsels most agreeable to their constitutions without the unnecessary pressure of consuming plateful after plateful of unfamiliar food. There was also the chance to flirt with your companions by carving them choice mouthfuls of meat or quite possibly serving them suggestive vegetables – Hux has never witnessed this in person and he might not be up to date with the theory and practice of wooing a lover but has been forced to listen the reminiscing of drunk old officers caught in untoward nostalgia too many times.

He resists the urge to throw the book and the cutlery out of the closest airlock and use them for target practice and forces himself to focus. If his advancement hinges on memorizing this nonsense there’s nothing that can stop him from doing so.

***

Yet another week has passed and Kylo is that much closer to giving into insanity. Nothing helps the jealousy and possessive anger roiling in him, rotting his body from inside out. Hux is all he can think about and the thoughts of the General melting into the embrace of his stupid, greasy lover torment him day and night. 

He hasn’t seen much of Hux’s skin besides the occasional flash of a slender wrist, but he can easily extrapolate from that how the man is built beneath his padded uniform. He imagines someone else worshipping Hux’s body, their arms wrapping around his narrow waist, lips and teeth marring the luminous, pale skin with ugly bruises. In these fevered dreams Hux is always reclining on bright red silk sheets, for some reason, his eyes half-lidded and lips parted in an invitation which Kylo wishes was for him and not the other man. His mind, hell-bent on torturing him, gets stuck on a loop replaying Hux’s arching back and his moan as his lover enters him and Kylo wants to scream and rend him limb from limb, paint the scene red with his blood and make Hux his, claim him on over the bloodied corpse of his former lover.

He probably couldn’t satisfy Hux properly anyway. 

So, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when he received the form informing him on Hux’s impending two-day shore leave. It was inevitable, of course he’d want to meet up in some seedy hotel or in a – a  _ house of ill repute _ , although Kylo’s mind rebelled at the idea of Hux entering such a place, but where else would he meet with that infernal man? His first instinct was to deny the leave but that would have meant he’d have to come up with an explanation to Hux, who no doubt would be demanding to know why he couldn’t go to his tryst.

After realizing Hux would probably only smuggle his heart’s intended aboard the Finalizer Kylo had quickly approved of the request but made a note of the date and time of Hux’s departure.

He knows a honeypot trap when he sees one and Hux is surely falling into one. He’d have to follow the General to his destination to ensure he wouldn’t pour all the Order’s secrets into the ear of his seducer, waiting and undoubtedly rubbing his hands together in anticipation of getting the upper hand of General Hux, his extortion plans already in motion – not only is the reputation and spotless public image of the Order’s most illustrious and annoying officer at stake, but also the fate of the entire First Order and Kylo’s reign which threatens to be a short-lived one if he can’t bring Hux back under his control - Kylo takes a deep, steadying breath to stop himself from spiraling. 

Okay. So Hux having a lover may not exactly spell doom for his plans to rule the Galaxy, but Kylo will not accept the fact without monitoring the situation closely. 

He double-checks the date of Hux’s leave and clears his own schedule.

Some agonizing days later he’s easing a small shuttle out of the hangar bay. Following Hux is easy as the General’s chosen method of travel is the standard troop transport, hauling personnel to and from their shore leaves and missions. He can also feel Hux’s presence in the Force more acutely by the day, an affliction he developed when he came to realize his feelings for him. 

Of course, it helps that he’s returned Hux’s favor and placed a tracker into the sheath he keeps bound to his forearm. That was a stroke of genius, Kylo is ready to admit. He thought of the items Hux would never be without and the blade and its sheath were easier to access than Hux’s  dogtags . The tracker comes in handy when Hux changes transports at a busy spaceport and Kylo doesn’t want to risk using the Force and possibly alerting Hux of his presence but when Hux’s now civilian shuttle hops into hyperspace Kylo latches on to the burning, brilliant flare Hux creates in the Force.

He’s a bit confused at first when the trail leads him to RX-335, a small moon in the fashionably shabby outer edge of the Core. Kylo can’t think of any reason for Hux to visit the area as there are several perfectly fine, Order-approved destinations available, every last of them happily catering for all the needs of a high-ranking officer in need of a little relaxation as a reward for their hard work. Really, the only thing the moon  has to boast about is the  _ Pudgy Tooka _ , a restaurant run by a trio of the galaxy’s most famous chefs. Kylo knows. He has spent an agonizing evening or two here in his previous life, dragged to witness how his mother rubbed shoulders with the most pretentious members of the Core elite. 

Kylo shudders to shake the memory off himself and sets his shuttle on the orbit until he’s certain of the spaceport Hux has landed on and then convinces the flight control to give him a pad close to the large commercial shuttle that brought Hux here. It takes a moment to focus on Hux again but soon enough he’s stalking through alleyways and dodging oncoming traffic in an attempt to keep himself from being noticed. He sees Hux turning a corner and is astonished to see him entering the nondescript and easy to miss front door of the _ Pudgy Tooka _ as if he’d dined there every night. As if he belonged here, amongst the nouveau riche and the old elite and the wannabe socialites flashing their borrowed money, desperate to be seen.

Is Hux  really so easy to convert from his true path? A flash of shiny baubles and a few flattering words and he’d fall into the honey trap and sell the First Order without any regrets.

Kylo is mad at Hux for being such a – he struggles for a word –  _ trollop _ .

The Kylo is mad at himself for not realizing the danger in time and not ensuring Hux’s loyalty like a competent leader would have done.

Hux should be loyal to the First Order.

Hux should be loyal to  _ Kylo _ .

Hux belongs to Kylo, not some dirty, lecherous idiot who can’t keep it in his pants and has the  _ audacity  _ to covet what is rightfully Kylo’s - 

His righteous anger is interrupted by a tall  Zeltron in the  maître d’s black, sleek suit and her hair pulled back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. “May I help you, sir?” she asks, eyeing Kylo from head to toe.

“General Hux,” Kylo growls. “Show me where he is.”

The  Zeltron blinks at him, appalled. “Sir, we have a strict respect to our patrons’ privacy and will not -”

“General Hux!” Kylo snarls, extending a hand and harnessing the Force to pull the information out of her. “Show me! Now!”

“Sir, there is no General Hux here,” she gasps, hands rising to scratch at her throat.

Oh.

Yes. Of course. Kylo releases her and licks his lips. He raises his hand again. “Tall man. Red hair. Handsome, lean, pert little -”

“ Mr Sloane!” the maître d’ croaks and waves her hand in the general direction of the dining room. “ Mr Sloane is seated in the private room he reserved - “

Kylo lets her drop to the ground and stalks across the dimly lit room towards the section hidden behind heavy velvet curtains, making dinner guests duck and waiters swerve around him. How dare Hux, how very  _ dare  _ he give himself to such displays of wanton debauchery.

Kylo yanks the gold-embroidered fabric aside and barges into the small room, his other hand already palming his lightsaber.

***

Hux swallows his sudden and unbidden nervousness and runs his fingers over the smooth, soft white fabric covering the table he’s sitting at. So far, he has had his coat and hat confiscated and a small glass of something bitter and strong pressed into his hand,  _ “an aperitif, sir,” _ and he’s trying to wrap his brain around the fact that there seems to be a need for a special concoction to awaken one’s appetite outside of a dire medical emergency. He eyes the assortment of cutlery with a bit more confidence, going through the list he has memorized and feeling secure in the knowledge that no one’s here to judge him if he gets it wrong on the first go.

I t’s nice, rather, sitting here in his own secluded area, curtained off from the rest of the world, listening to the muted sounds of a busy restaurant and the velvety flow of soft music in the background of it all. A world away from his usual surroundings, to be sure. He tugs an errant strand of his hair behind his ear and checks his shirt buttons – i t has been such a long time since he last wore his one and only set of civvies that he was mildly  surprised they still fit. The green button-up shirt and the brown trousers definitely made him almost unrecognizable, especially with the  uncoiffed hair and he had spent an unusually long moment before the mirror, turning himself this way and that, contemplating the necessity of the tight fit of the trousers over his posterior.

Therefore, it’s quite a shock to see the Supreme Leader barging in, nearly ripping the curtains apart in his massive fist as he tears in, eyes wild and mouth twisted into a snarl. Hux stands up so quickly he all but topples the table over, spilling his drink down his shirt.

“Where is he?” Ren demands, just as the maître d’ hurries after him full of apologies. 

“Sir, please, this is  _ highly  _ irregular -” she tries, foolishly risking her life and limbs so Hux decides to intervene before his superior officer ruins this nice evening by escalating his tantrum into a killing spree.

“It’s all right,” he says to the maître d’, trying to shoo her away. “He’s, uh, he’s with me.”

“But -”

“Please, it’s all right. Just – he's fine. It’s all fine.” He can feel a headache starting to throb in the back of his head, spreading slowly towards his forehead. Thankfully the maître d’ retreats, casting one last doubtful glare at Ren who’s now peeking under the table, his face still contorted in  barely held fury.

“Supreme Leader. Is there something I can do for you?”

Ren rounds on him, pointing a finger. “Shut up,” he says. “Where did you hide him? What have you told him? I will silence him, Hux, I swear, before he sells us to the Resistance -”

Hux gawks at Ren, unable to believe what he’s seeing and hearing. Ren has completely lost his mind. “Supreme Leader,” he tries. “What are you talking about? Who are you looking for? Is there a spy I’m not aware of?”

Ren ignores him and Hux can tell by the set of his shoulders and the way he focuses inwards something bad is going to happen. “Supreme Leader.” This causes no reaction. “Ren.” Nothing. 

_ “Kylo!”  _

Ren jolts and stops on his tracks, staring at Hux in astonishment.

“Would you please tell me what is going on, sir?”

“He’s not here, is he?”

“Who? Who are you talking about?”

“Tillis. Your – your -” Ren seems to run out of words and gesticulates vaguely to get his point across. Hux draws his brows together, trying to parse the meaning of Ren’s nonsense words. “Who is Tillis?” he asks, fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

It’s Ren’s turn to stare at him dumbfounded. He seems to deflate and pulls up a chair, sitting heavily down. “You don’t - I can sense  \- Right . Right. Right. No one. He’s no one. Tillis is absolutely no one. You’re here alone.”

“Obviously.” Hux sits down as well. He gulps down what little drink he has left and looks glumly down at the table set for one. “Would you like to, uh, would you like to join me? For dinner. Sir.”

“You’re here alone,” Ren repeats unnecessarily and then narrows his eyes at Hux. “ _ Why  _ are you here at all?”

Hux straightens his back and looks everywhere but Ren. He sniffs and fidgets with the cuff of his shirt. “I am on a shore leave, sir. Enjoying a free evening away from my duties.”

“You never take a day off,” Ren accuses. 

“I feel that in the light of the recent events I’m entitled to -”

“Besides, I happen to know the  _ Pudgy Tooka _ has a waiting list at least three standard months long, how did you get a table on such a short notice? Because I  know  _ you  _ won’t have been planning a day off three months in advance.”

Hux relaxes and can’t help the little vicious grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Everyone has their soft spots, sir. You just need to know where to aim your blade.” The soft overhead lighting must be playing tricks on his eyes more accustomed to the bright, stark light of his flagship, because it looks like Ren is blushing when he smiles. That is the exact moment when the curtains twitch aside and a droid enters, carrying a small plate with an over-sized spoon balanced on it. Hux stiffens back into his military posture and eyes the waiter warily. Ren is looking at him with mild interest, leaning back on his chair and drumming his fingertips idly on the tabletop.

“Chef Keaadi, one of the founders of this establishment, once went to Naboo,” the droid begins, setting the plate and the spoon in front of Hux. There is a tiny amount of finely chopped greenery in the spoon, the meaning of which escapes Hux completely. “She was mesmerized by the beauty of the planet, it’s lush meadows and glimmering waters, the fairy-tale mist rising from the lake on each glorious morning. Let this greeting from our kitchen take you with her on that journey and we hope it creates lasting memories which you will cherish for the rest of your life.”

Hux stares, wide-eyed, at the retreating droid and then down at the morsel of food in front of him. He looks up at Ren’s amused expression and then back down at the plate. His hand hovers over the smallest of the silvery forks laid on the table and he  touches it gently before putting his hand back on his lap.

“It’s already on a spoon, Hux.”

“What?”

“The amuse  bouché . It's already put on a spoon. Just eat it normally.”

Hux feels color rising on his cheeks as he takes the spoon and gingerly sucks the mouthful off it. Flavor bursts on his tongue and he hums in surprise. He’s not sure where the misty mornings come in, but whatever he was served is fresh and crisp and leaves him wanting more.

The droid bustles in again, takes way the spoon and replaces it with a rectangular piece of glass with an orb of  greyish mousse and few triangles of what look like slivers of ration bars arranged on it. “The next leg of our journey takes us to Mon Cala, and into the famous kitchens of the underwater palaces. Imagine, if you will, sunlight filtering through the water, the bright ocean blue mingling with the soft gold, the rejuvenating touch of a Northern current bringing cool water down to the more moderate hemisphere. The wine is specially selected to compliment this dish and should bring forth the underlaying flavors reminiscent of a mellow day spent at a beach with your closest friends.”

Hux has never in his life had a mellow day, let alone close friends but he tries the pale liquid anyway and finds it quite palatable. Ren is looking at him closely and breathes a  _ yes  _ when Hux picks up the correct fork after a brief hesitation. 

“That’s why you are here, isn’t it? To practice a formal dinner?” 

Hux nods, face burning once again, and sucks his teeth at the briny taste of the mousse. Ren scoots his chair closer and works his mouth until a small smile emerges. 

“Well then. That is the correct way of eating that dish, but you could also -” he snatches one of the triangles and scoops a bit of the mousse on it, shoving it all in his mouth and nodding his appreciation at the taste. Hux puts the fork down carefully and mimics Ren’s actions, taking a careful bite out of the triangle. The mixture of crisp and smooth, the sharp, tangy taste of the mousse and the subdued sourness of the bread goes well together and Hux stuffs the rest of it into his mouth and reaches for another piece.  Unfortunately Ren is doing  exactly the same and their fingers collide over the dish. They yank their respective hands back with muttered apologies. Ren moves first, picking up the delicate triangle with his large fingers and twirling it in the mousse. Suddenly his eyes seem to darken and grow hooded and Hux doesn’t miss the minute twitch of his lips when he offers the morsel to Hux. 

Hux’s breath hitches and he cannot say where the sudden urge to suck Ren’s fingers comes from, but he tamps it down quickly and takes the offered bit with his fingers and pops it into his mouth, washing it down with a sip of wine. 

“I could -” Ren starts, clears his throat and shifts his weight. “I could teach you. I can – you don’t need to look elsewhere. I can give you gifts. Better than anything he would give you.”

Hux has still no idea what has gotten into Ren. “Who is giving me gifts?” he asks. “Would you kindly tell me what you are on about?” He glares at Ren and then remember who he’s talking to. “Sir.”

Ren shakes his head and breathes hard through his nose. “Sorry,” he says and makes Hux choke on his wine. “What I mean is that you, as my top general, should not look outside the Order if you’re in need of a partner. The security issues alone -”

Hux presses the back of his to his mouth to prevent himself from spraying the expensive drink all over his Leader. “I - what? Partner? Are you – are you offering?”

“What if I am? I should be your natural  choice anyway, given your ambitions.”

“I will not sleep my way to the top!” Hux hisses, red-hot anger lancing through his chest. “I have never traded sexual  favours to promotions and you know that!”

Ren raises his hands, palms out in a placating gesture. “I know. I know.” He gives Hux a once-over. Licks his lips. “But what would you say if I was? Offering?”

“Offering a what? A one-night fling? I’m better than that, Supreme Leader.”

“Ren. Call me Ren. Or Kylo.”

Hux wrinkles his nose. “Ren,” he says after a beat.

This time they are interrupted by two droids, one whisking the used dishes away, the other bringing out what Hux thought looked like the pinecones that grew on the trees on Starkiller, albeit much larger and softer. It’s accompanied with a little bowl of thin, yellow substance. 

“From the beach and the ocean, we move inland, to hide from the midday sun under a leafy pergola. Chef  Yaditre reminisces their childhood with this particular dish, the warmth of the summers’ day caressing the body on the outside and on the inside, the warmth of the family unit brings comfort and ese of mind, be it a biological family or a chosen one. As it is with life in general, this dish is best enjoyed with a friend by your side. If I may.” The droid sets a wine glass in front of Ren and pours a measure of sparkling wine to him as well. They disappear behind the curtain with a whirr of machinery. Hux approaches his food like he approaches any unfamiliar enemy, by considering his strategy from each angle.

“Here,” Ren says and pulls the plate halfway over to him with a flick of his fingers. He pulls one of the petals off and dips it in the bowl before he does the unspeakable and puts the thing between his lips and hollowing his cheeks to suck the center off and Hux can do nothing but stare, nostrils flaring and fists clenching, something heavy dropping low in his belly and igniting a small fire. He swallows and watches, in trance, when Ren peels off another petal, dips it and makes an even bigger show of extracting the innards with is tongue. Ren removes a petal, dips it in - “Butter, Hux. This is melted butter.” But this time he brings it to Hux, touches his mouth gently until Hux parts his lips and takes the soft thing between his teeth. He gasps a little at the mixture of the faintly earthy taste of the vegetable and the rich texture of the butter but bites down and pulls his head back, acutely aware of Ren’s eyes on his mouth.

“Try it with the wine,” Ren says, voice low. He sips from his own glass and Hux follows his example. The bubbles feel strange on his tongue, but the tart, sharp flavor balances the soft texture of the food perfectly. Somehow Ren has moved a bit closer and is already holding a petal for Hux to take. His fingertips brush over Hux’s lips when he bends to snatch the morsel from his hand and the blush is back with full force. 

“My turn,” he tells Ren, tears a petal off and before he loses his courage dunks it in the butter and shoves if in Ren’s face. Ren takes a hold of his wrist, warm, large fingers engulfing it with ease, and just before biting down on the petal opens his mouth even wider and then Hux’s fingers are in up to the second knuckle and Ren’s tongue is doing something  _ wicked  _ and he’s  _ sucking  _ and scraping his teeth over the skin and Hux’s brain short-circuits at the sight of Ren’s lips stretched over his fingers and the wet, hot tightness of his mouth and someone whimpers and it can’t be Ren because he’s got his mouth full.

Ren releases Hux’s fingers but keeps a hold of his wrist. He takes the remains of the petal from Hux and puts it on the plate, then his eyes happen upon his fingers wrapped around Hux’s wrist and he freezes, pales and blushes in turns, gapes at their joined hands with parted lips. He peels away his hand finger by finger, sits back and clears his throat.

Hux wills his hand to stop shaking and takes a careful sip of his wine. “You were saying something,  Supr \- Ren.”

“Huh? Yes. Yes. I was.” Ren shifts on his seat and frowns at Hux. “The thing is, General, that I cannot allow you to run rampant around the galaxy, seducing people left and right -”

_ “I beg your pardon?” _

“- not when we are so close to achieving our final victory, when our ultimate goal is well within our reach, and every slip of the tongue, both figuratively and literally speaking, could cost us the war -”

“Now listen, Ren -”

“- does the Order not provide for your every need? What is missing from your life that cannot be found within the Order’s ranks? Because if you need, uh,  _ personal  _ attention I could – everyone has needs, I understand -”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“- but you’re invaluable to the Order and I can’t bear to see you fling yourself at some unworthy piece of -”

“What?”

Ren runs out of steam and deflates a bit on his chair, an embarrassed scowl creasing his brow. “All I’m saying is if you need anything, all you have to do is ask.”

“First of all,” Hux says, trying to rein in his anger, “I have never in my life flung myself at anyone, nor have I plotted against the Order and if you ever say anything like that again I will feed your balls to my cat. Secondly, I still don’t know what you’re offering, why you are here bothering me on my day off, and if I should send a request form to the commissary, and thirdly,” he counts on his fingers, “and thirdly – I can’t think of a third point.” He squints at Ren, hesitates but asks anyway: “Do you really think me invaluable?”

Ren averts his eyes, picks up a knife and cuts the remaining vegetable in half. “The heart is considered a delicacy,” he mutters and scoops the centermost cluster of petals out. You should try it.”

“Ren.”

“Fine. Yes. The Order wouldn’t function half as well without you.”

Hux can't help the pleased grin spreading on his face. He picks up the slightly squishy ball of underdeveloped petals up and pops it into his mouth, feeling unabashedly triumphant. 

The droid bustles in with the following course, a “ _ moment of indulgence under a desert planet’s suns, when the hottest hours of the day have passed, and the coolness of the night is already a promise in the air; when friends old and new gather around the campfire to share a meal and a story or two, where everyone is invited and welcomed as they are and past lives do not matter when new memories are made,” _ accompanied by a glass of blood red wine, or as Hux suspects, a few slivers of prime  bantha tenderloin with spicy-looking grains and more unfamiliar vegetables. This is all fine and everything he’s been expecting, but the simple, beautiful efficiency of First Order nutrition is proving its point more and more by each passing moment.

He tries the meat, and it melts in his mouth. Before his brain catches on, he’s holding out a piece for Ren to taste and is oddly disappointed when Ren takes the fork from his hand and scrapes the meat off it with his teeth. “Nice,” he says and steals a yellow vegetable cube from Hux’s plate. 

The grain proves to be way too spicy for Hux’s taste. He pretends not to notice Ren’s snigger at his expression, and he washes the taste away with a mouthful of wine. “Why are you here, Ren, really? Not to accuse me of high treason, because that you would have done with your lightsaber through my chest.”

“I just want you to know that if you feel, er, like having a – feel like fraternizing, choosing a mate from your own people would be the most sensible solution.” Ren manages to look sincere and solemn although his left cheek twitches a little.

“Why would you think I’m in a mood for fraternizing?”

Ren narrows his eyes at him. “Fine. All right. I saw you flirting with that horrible twat on  Brentaal and in the name of state security I will have to put my foot down at you dating outside of the Order.”

Hux opens his mouth to say something but no words come out. He tries again and fails. On the third go he manages to choke out “Flirting? I assure you there was nothing of the sort.”

“No?”

“No. Absolutely not.” Hux looks at Ren’s awkward shuffle and smirks. “Were you offering yourself in his stead?”

“ So what if I was?” Ren mutters, eyes firmly glued to the tabletop.

Hux bites his bottom lip. An unbidden flash of insecurity surges through him and he wants to stand up and pace the room. He distracts himself by straightening the cutlery, rotating his plate exactly 13 degrees to the right and arranging his wine glasses in a neat row. “What if,” he begins, “what if I was to accept your offer?”

The silence that follows is unbearable. Hux can hear Ren swallowing heavily and the creak of his chair when he shifts his considerable weight on it. “You are not completely unappealing. And it would be a sensible match.”

“Yes,” Ren says after a beat. “Yes, it would.” He leans over the table and nudges the wine glass on the left out of the alignment. “Do you mean it, though? That you’re amenable and not just trying to, you know, for a favor.”

“Yes. I do. I mean, I’m interested in you. Not your position.”

“Good,” Ren breathes. “Good. Eat your food. I don’t want to sit here for the entire evening.”

“Oh? Isn’t this our first date?”

Ren’s eyes widen and he turns fetchingly crimson up to the tips of his ears. Hux suppresses his laughter and digs into his meal, pushing the offending grains to the side and finishing the meat and the vegetables.

The dessert, according to the waiter, ought to invoke the promise of an indulgent night ahead – Hux can’t face Ren lest he bursts into giggles or embarrasses himself otherwise – but it comes with a cup of dark  caf which fills the room with a familiar scent and Hux’s nostrils flare as he draws his lungs full of air in anticipation of the energy burst. A tall, carved crystal vase is placed between them, filled to the brim with what Hux to his relief recognizes to be ice cream topped with cookies and chunks of dark chocolate. There’s only one spoon, but it’s ridiculously long and unwieldy. Ren solves the problem by grabbing a cookie and scooping a hefty load of ice cream on it, cramming the entire thing into his mouth and letting out a low groan, resulting in Hux missing his mouth altogether and poking himself in the cheek with the stupid spoon.

“Here, let me,” Ren says and then his thumb is moving in a slow arc over Hux’s face, his lips pursed in concentration and eyes focused on the task at hand. He licks his thumb clean and Hux almost drops the spoonful of dessert onto the white tablecloth. He puts it in his mouth quickly and takes revenge by hooking his foot around Ren’s calf and sliding it slowly up to his knee and down again. 

“Hux,” Ren groans and shifts forwards, spreading his legs. Hux takes in his flushed face and parted lips, how his chest heaves underneath the heavy layers of his tunic and the way he curls his fingers into fists. He looks at the ice cream and thinks how long it’s been since he last had it and how long it’ll be before the next opportunity presents itself. He takes a generous mouthful and sucks the spoon, lost in thought. 

“How about you help me eat this,” he says, forming his words carefully with his half-numb tongue. “And then accompany me to my hotel?”

***

“If you need a pay rise you should tell me, because this is frankly unbelievable.” Kylo nudges the solitary, brown armchair with his foot and casts a disdainful eye over the tacky décor of Hux’s chosen hotel room.

“What was unbelievable,  _ sir _ , was the fuss you made at the restaurant!” 

“How was I supposed to know you had paid in advance? Who does that? Besides, droids are difficult to sway with a mind  trick, so no damage done there.”

“I did! I wanted a nice evening, with no one recognizing me, with the minimum of fuss! I did not want anyone waving their hands and yelling nonsense at the waiting staff!”

“Well excuse  _ me  _ for wanting to do something nice for you! Rest assured it won’t happen again!” 

“People were taking pictures, Ren!” Hux’s face is becoming an unfetching shade of crimson and his voice is getting the annoying edge of shrill which bores into Kylo’s skull and twangs his nerves. He kicks the chair with enough force to tip it over and advances on Hux, crowding his against the wall and slamming his hands on either side of his face. 

“So what?” he snarls. “What are you afraid of? Some meaningless rumors?”

Hux shivers and his gaze flickers down to Kylo’s lips. That dissipates Kylo’s anger in an instant and transforms it into something that flashes through his entire body and sets a fire burning low in his belly. He crams his thigh between Hux’s legs and presses up, wants to kiss him but tortures them both instead by keeping their mouths mere inches apart.

“What are you afraid of,” he asks again, softly, committing to memory the sensation of Hux’s breath over his skin and the shape of his body pressed against his. He can feel Hux’s interest growing against his thigh and lifts his knee again.

“Nothing,” Hux whispers and suddenly his fingers are in Kylo’s hair, pulling down and tugging to make his head tilt and then Hux’s lips are covering Kylo’s mouth and his teeth are pulling Kylo’s bottom lip gently. He lets it go and looks Kylo dead in the eye. “I fear nothing and no one.”

Kylo can feel the nervous bravado radiating off Hux but nevertheless that’s the single most hot thing anyone has ever said to him. He growls in the back of his throat and bends down just enough to get his hands under Hux’s thighs. He hoists him up without a warning and the yelp Hux lets out before catching on and wrapping his hands around Kylo's shoulder’s and hooking his ankles behind his back is nothing short of delicious. Kylo kisses him with all his might, growling and biting and licking into his mouth, his hands moving to squeeze Hux’s buttocks. Hux’s long legs are around his waist, tight as a vice and grounding Kylo to this unforeseen reality where he’s given the exclusive right to confirm his grand theory of the softness and the size of Hux’s butt. 

He can taste the sticky sweet residue of the dessert on Hux’s lips and licks that away, irrationally wanting to make Hux smell and taste of him instead, to mark him his own. He’s fully hard in his trousers, aching for friction and release so he presses forwards, grinding against Hux as much as he can but it’s not enough. Hux moves to suck his earlobe into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth and Kylo squeals, to his eternal embarrassment, and hunches down involuntarily, pulling his shoulder to cover the attacked ear. Whatever protest he has dies in his throat when he hears Hux’s quiet chuckle and senses his delight. He tries to dive in again but Kylo thwarts his plans by spinning them around and heading towards the big, square bed taking up a lot of the floorspace even though Hux has splurged the credits for what the hotel staff proudly called a Superior Room. He uses the Force to toss the selection of unnecessary cushions and blankets off the bed and bends down to carefully lay Hux on the crisp, white sheets. Hux gasps and sinks into the mattress before bouncing back up again. 

“Wha-?” Kylo starts when the bed seems to ripple and pokes it with his index finger. He grins. Trust Hux to go for the most tasteless option available when given free rein with his money. He clearly needs supervision and guidance. “Is this a waterbed?” 

“Yes, it is,” Hux says with obvious pride in his voice. “I read about them on the  holonet and always wanted to try sleeping in one.”

“Whatever for? These things went out of fashion before the Empire fell. Hasn’t the Order provided ergonomically optimal sleeping solutions to ensure everyone’s best performance in military and civil service?” 

Hux frowns at his incorrect quote and looks away, withdrawing in himself. This is not how the evening is supposed to end, so Kylo crawls on the bed, gingerly, trying not to send Hux bobbing away on the waves he creates. He nuzzles Hux’s neck just because he can and catches Hux mumbling something under his breath.

“What was that?” he asks in between little kisses and bites.

“I’ve heard it’s soft and warm. The bed.”

Kylo freezes, his hand hovering over Hux’s chest and lips almost touching his skin. He’s not often treated with clear and unequivocal insights but right now the Force is all but screaming at him to tread carefully. Hux has just revealed something profoundly personal and significant and Kylo’s vision doubles as the Force shows him the crossroads he’s standing at, the two possible futures he’s offered. 

One: With Hux by his side, a loyal, brilliant (loving) companion, and with him comes peace and stability and glory and an Empire (a home).

The other: Hux as his general only, loyal to the cause but resenting Kylo, an extended war and an uncertain outcome, peace and balance a distant dream (his – and Hux’s - bed and heart cold and lonely).

Kylo Ren, Master of the Knights of Ren, the Supreme Leader of the First Order, the man who time and again has broken free from the life set out for him and chosen and fulfilled his own destiny without any qualms or hesitation once again finds himself in a situation where a simple word could shape the entire galaxy.

“Yes,” he murmurs, inching forwards until he has Hux pinned down beneath him, ensconcing him between the bed and his body, willing the water to warm up faster. The Force sings as it settles into the course Kylo has chosen for it and with that Hux relaxes, looks back at Kylo and wrinkles his nose.

“Weren’t we supposed to get undressed?”

“Yes,” Kylo says, feeling slightly foolish at repeating himself and torn between wanting to feel skin on skin but still being unwilling to move. Hux wriggles a bit, and the mattress moves with him, almost toppling Kylo from his perch. Hux yelps and giggles, moves with a bit more force and laughs  when Kylo curses and holds on to him. 

He pulls at Kylo’s cape and settles still. “Off,” he commands. “Off with these.”

“What if I don’t want to move?”

“In that case I bid you good evening with your blue balls,” Hux informs him, canting his hips up. “I am quite comfortable here.”

Kylo considers this. The desire to see Hux entirely wins. “Fine.” he grumbles and rolls away, creating a minor tsunami which sends Hux rolling in opposite direction. Getting out of the bed is an undignified affair but with coordination they manage, and then there’s a sudden onslaught of more awkwardness as both seem to be waiting for the other to start to undress first. Kylo takes the  bantha by the horns and unclasps his cape and then his belt, and by the time he’s unfastening his tunic Hux is already in his undershirt and removing an alarming number of knives from his person.

“You had all of those on you and you chose a room with a waterbed?” Kylo asks, incredulous.

“You’re the one who put me there,” Hux retorts. “You should know me by now. I never go around unarmed.”

“I can see that. Maybe a warning next time?” 

And then – then all he can see is pale skin and the outline of ribs underneath, the slight curve of a soft belly Kylo is desperate to touch, bony hips and an ass that is just as supple and round as he thought it would be, a half-hard, pink cock perfectly sized for Kylo’s mouth, slender legs and nice ankles. Somehow Kylo manages to discard the rest of his clothes and that is a wonder because his mind is consumed by the need to touch and to taste. He closes the distance between hem in two strides and they are falling on the bed again, sinking into the welcoming warmth - 

“Hold. Stop. Stay still.” Hux is looking a bit green around the gills and Kylo stills, concerned. “I have just eaten a full dinner and the motion-”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” Kylo contends himself by pressing his nose in the crook of Hux’s neck and breathing him in until Hux makes affirmative noises and starts to move. He spreads his legs and wraps them loosely around Kylo’s hips, shifting until their cocks are rubbing against each other. 

“Better?” Kylo asks despite knowing the answer.

“Much, thank you.”

“Good.” 

Kylo dips in to claim Hux’s mouth, groaning as Hux yields into it and welcomes his tongue. He slides his hand down Hux’s side, rubs his thigh and lifts his hips enough to get his fingers between them. He brushes his knuckles along Hux’s length and goes further down still, to cup his balls and caress them for a while before continuing to press the pad of his forefinger against Hux’s taint. Hux is responding with little grunts and moans, his body twitching and shivering in turns. It’s more than enough to make Kylo start unraveling at the seams, his own body getting attuned to each of Hux’s movements and noises in a way Kylo would swear was a bond forming between them if Hux was Force-sensitive. 

Hux arches his back and keens when Kylo’s finger ghosts over his hole and circles it. He breaks the kiss, lips swollen and eyes hazy, looking so adorable Kylo’s heart clenches. “I hope you brought lube,” Hux purrs and Kylo is yanked back to reality with a jolt.

“Uh. No. Don’t you have any?”

“Why would I have brought it with me? I came to enjoy a good meal and a nice hotel room, nothing more.”

“You booked a room with a special bed and you didn’t think  to - never mind,” Kylo amends when Hux’s eyes begin to grow stormy. “How about this?”

He licks his palm, keeping his eyes locked with Hux’s and reaches between them again, slicking both their cocks as best as he can. He tugs them both gently, making note of the pressure and angle that makes Hux’s breath hitch and his fists curl to grab the sheets, Kylo grazes his teeth over the skin of the side of Hux’s neck, moves to suckle a bruise over his collarbone and tries to look sexy balancing on the uneven and wobbly surface. He’s forced to let go of their cocks, earning a huff from Hux but he makes up for it by scooting down on his knees, peppering little kisses all over Hux’s chest and belly until he reaches the juncture of his thighs. Hux’s scent is heady here, a mixture of regulation soap and his own musk. Kylo buries his nose in the neatly trimmed thatch of hair around Hux’s cock and fills his lungs, holding Hux still with both hands clamped around his hips.

Before Hux can protest Kylo licks a wide stripe along the underside of Hux’s length, takes the head into his mouth and suckles. Hux’s hips buckle under his hands, betraying his desire for more but Kylo doesn’t want to rush, letting himself fully enjoy the experience of sucking a cock. He had been right in his first assessment; a random part of his mind provides as he slowly descends to take Hux entirely into his mouth. His cock is absolutely made for Kylo. It hits the back of his throat just right, settles over his tongue with a reassuring, solid weight and the tangy-sweet taste of it invokes a satisfied, little hum which makes Hux twitch and groan. 

Kylo hollows his cheeks and pulls back, releasing Hux’s cock with an audible  _ pop _ . He dives immediately back in, closing his eyes in concentration and focusing all his senses into perfecting this act, determined to ruin Hux for anyone else. He has enough of control left to make a tendril of the Force tease Hux’s perineum and the pucker of his hole, easing it in as soon as Hux relaxes. He  has to take his mouth off Hux’s cock to find his prostate but once he’s sure he’s got it he’s  laving the glans with the flat of his tongue and wrapping his fingers around the shaft to pump it a few times. 

Hux’s hands find their way into Kylo’s hair, urging his head down. Kylo can hear him panting, can smell the sweat rising over his skin and doubles his efforts, swallowing him down while brushing the Force over the bundle of nerves inside him. 

Hux screams and thrashes under Kylo, his fingers curling into fists and pulling his hair to the point of pain and Kylo welcomes the sensation, his own cock throbbing as a response and leaking  precome over the bed. He stops just before he senses Hux is about to come, pulls away the Force and pushes himself up on his hands and knees, gulping in air to prevent himself from spilling all over Hux’s legs before he intends to. 

Then he lies back down on top of Hux, bracketing him in, elbows on either side of his head so that he can watch his expression change when he begins to rock his body. Hux lifts his legs to be around Kylo’s waist and slides his hands under his arms and around his shoulders, holding tight.

“Kylo - “ he moans and tilts his head back, offering his neck to be nibbled at.

This is alien to Kylo, this tenderness. His every instinct tells him to flip Hux over and pound him hard and fast into the mattress until the general is completely undone, left a whimpering, drooling mess, gaping and ready to be mounted again as soon as Kylo has regained his strength. Even with the lube the bed itself prevents this, forcing him to find a steady, gentle rhythm together with Hux. It’s strange but not altogether bad, although he could not imagine doing this with anyone else. The water in the mattress absorbs their movements and slows their rutting down to almost torturous pace. 

Kylo’s pleasure mounts steadily anyway, but every time he believes he’s about to come and makes a deeper thrust the mattress shifts and he’s denied his orgasm. The same seem to be happening to Hux, too. The slide of skin on sweaty skin, the shared breaths and whimpers, the growing, awful need to come becomes an exquisite torture to Kylo. Under him Hux is begging, his words slurring together into a wailing  _ pleasepleaseplease _ __ and _ Kylo, Kylo, Kylo _ . His fingernails are digging into Kylo’s skin, his legs are trembling and losing their hold, he tries to writhe but the bed keeps him still and then his orgasm is wrenched out of him, forced to manifest with such an impact on the fabric of the immediate universe around him that Kylo feels it through the Force and topples over the edge himself, coming so hard he sees white, and beyond that the birth and the end of time and space, the endless cycle of life and death, atoms and planets alike dancing to the music of the omnipresent Force.

When he comes to Hux is absolutely drenched with come.

It’s the hottest thing Kylo has ever seen.

“Change of plans, Grand Marshal,” he mutters slumped over Hux and blatantly ignoring his demands to get off him, you oaf. “We’re annexing this  starsforsaken moon next.”


End file.
